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Entry tags:
Currents [Sweden/Norway]
Title: Currents
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Norway
Rating: 0+
Length: ~750 words
Summary: January, 1917. Strictly speaking, Norway's business is no longer Sweden's concern, but he's here all the same.
Other: Two recently-divorced separated neutral countries being anxious. Written for SuNor Week. Prompt was "War".
While neither Sweden nor Norway were directly involved in the First World War, they were still affected by it. Recently-independent Norway, and its large merchant fleet, was in a rather precarious position*.
Currents
At a time like this, Sweden is grateful for the tea. It gives him something to do with his hands – and it gives the both of them a reason not to say anything.
Norway's face looks pale and drawn. Dark circles press below his eyelids like bruises. He hasn't been sleeping properly.
Sweden knows that he hardly looks any better himself. Who would, with the twisting maelstrom so close to their coasts?
He had expected that it would be a long time before Norway would come to him on a personal visit. They had met for official purposes at many points since they parted ways, but something personal – well, that would be another thing entirely. And Norway himself had said as much on the night before they separated for good, looking up at him with eyes so dark and an expression so closed that it would have been impossible to understand him if not for his words.
"I'm going to need some time to myself," he had said. And Sweden understood – or tried to.
But now here Norway sits, only slightly more than a decade later, shabby and tired and with no official function calling him to Stockholm. He looks out the window, as if unwilling to look at Sweden's face. A strand of hair has slipped from its place in his hairclip, and Sweden wishes he could reach out to tuck it behind Norway's ear. He misses the feeling of that softness against his fingertips.
But that wouldn't be appropriate. Not any more. Would it?
So Sweden pours him the tea, and sets the cup in front of him with care. The quiet of his study feels stifling, and so does the silence between them, even though in the past that same silence has been such a comfort.
He wonders if he should speak. Taking up his own teacup, he considers and waits and tries to think of a suitable thing to say.
The words, right now, do not come easily.
"How long do you think this will be, then?"
Norway speaks first. He doesn't look at Sweden. He just gestures out the window at the entire world, indicating what they can do nothing about except observe, holding their breaths.
Sweden shakes his head. "Don't know." And he doesn't. The first predictions that it would take less than a year have long been proved wrong.
Neither of them says anything else for a moment. Norway sucks in a breath to acknowledge that he heard, and that is all.
They sit in silence. Sweden drinks his tea. Norway doesn't. He merely holds the cup in his hands as if needing its warmth. His fingernails, Sweden notices, though usually so neat, have been bitten almost to the quick.
He aches to rise from his chair and go to him and take him up in his arms.
He doesn't dare to do it.
Rumour with its many tongues has been making its rounds recently. It is no secret that Norway has been troubled by the turmoil in the North Sea. Sources whisper that he isn't as neutral as he declares himself to be.
But this, like all other things to do with Norway, is no longer Sweden's business.
"Why'd you come?" Sweden asks, setting the teacup on its saucer and his hands on the desk. He immediately regrets speaking, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do with himself now, at this time, with Norway here.
"Hmm?" Norway still doesn't look at him. Not exactly. A flick of the gaze toward him, out of the corner of those familiar eyes – and then gone, out the window again.
"I want to know why you've come here." It is not an unreasonable question. Even in peacetime, Stockholm in winter is not the most comfortable, welcoming place. And their parting was not as smooth as it could have been.
Though his home feels empty in his absence, Sweden can't deny that Norway no longer has personal business here.
Finally, Norway looks at him. Then he reaches across the desk. Their fingers brush, but only just, lingering a moment for the first time since he left.
The chill of his hand makes Sweden's breath catch.
"For the company," Norway says, explaining in such a simple way, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. "That's all."
Sweden squeezes his hand. There is more to it, he's sure. He knows it isn't his place to ask.
But he can give him this, if nothing else.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Sweden/Norway
Rating: 0+
Length: ~750 words
Summary: January, 1917. Strictly speaking, Norway's business is no longer Sweden's concern, but he's here all the same.
Other: Two recently-
While neither Sweden nor Norway were directly involved in the First World War, they were still affected by it. Recently-independent Norway, and its large merchant fleet, was in a rather precarious position*.
Currents
At a time like this, Sweden is grateful for the tea. It gives him something to do with his hands – and it gives the both of them a reason not to say anything.
Norway's face looks pale and drawn. Dark circles press below his eyelids like bruises. He hasn't been sleeping properly.
Sweden knows that he hardly looks any better himself. Who would, with the twisting maelstrom so close to their coasts?
He had expected that it would be a long time before Norway would come to him on a personal visit. They had met for official purposes at many points since they parted ways, but something personal – well, that would be another thing entirely. And Norway himself had said as much on the night before they separated for good, looking up at him with eyes so dark and an expression so closed that it would have been impossible to understand him if not for his words.
"I'm going to need some time to myself," he had said. And Sweden understood – or tried to.
But now here Norway sits, only slightly more than a decade later, shabby and tired and with no official function calling him to Stockholm. He looks out the window, as if unwilling to look at Sweden's face. A strand of hair has slipped from its place in his hairclip, and Sweden wishes he could reach out to tuck it behind Norway's ear. He misses the feeling of that softness against his fingertips.
But that wouldn't be appropriate. Not any more. Would it?
So Sweden pours him the tea, and sets the cup in front of him with care. The quiet of his study feels stifling, and so does the silence between them, even though in the past that same silence has been such a comfort.
He wonders if he should speak. Taking up his own teacup, he considers and waits and tries to think of a suitable thing to say.
The words, right now, do not come easily.
"How long do you think this will be, then?"
Norway speaks first. He doesn't look at Sweden. He just gestures out the window at the entire world, indicating what they can do nothing about except observe, holding their breaths.
Sweden shakes his head. "Don't know." And he doesn't. The first predictions that it would take less than a year have long been proved wrong.
Neither of them says anything else for a moment. Norway sucks in a breath to acknowledge that he heard, and that is all.
They sit in silence. Sweden drinks his tea. Norway doesn't. He merely holds the cup in his hands as if needing its warmth. His fingernails, Sweden notices, though usually so neat, have been bitten almost to the quick.
He aches to rise from his chair and go to him and take him up in his arms.
He doesn't dare to do it.
Rumour with its many tongues has been making its rounds recently. It is no secret that Norway has been troubled by the turmoil in the North Sea. Sources whisper that he isn't as neutral as he declares himself to be.
But this, like all other things to do with Norway, is no longer Sweden's business.
"Why'd you come?" Sweden asks, setting the teacup on its saucer and his hands on the desk. He immediately regrets speaking, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do with himself now, at this time, with Norway here.
"Hmm?" Norway still doesn't look at him. Not exactly. A flick of the gaze toward him, out of the corner of those familiar eyes – and then gone, out the window again.
"I want to know why you've come here." It is not an unreasonable question. Even in peacetime, Stockholm in winter is not the most comfortable, welcoming place. And their parting was not as smooth as it could have been.
Though his home feels empty in his absence, Sweden can't deny that Norway no longer has personal business here.
Finally, Norway looks at him. Then he reaches across the desk. Their fingers brush, but only just, lingering a moment for the first time since he left.
The chill of his hand makes Sweden's breath catch.
"For the company," Norway says, explaining in such a simple way, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. "That's all."
Sweden squeezes his hand. There is more to it, he's sure. He knows it isn't his place to ask.
But he can give him this, if nothing else.